


Night Vale Episode 99.5

by recursivek



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Other, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 18:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15102377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recursivek/pseuds/recursivek
Summary: Cecil reports on the sneezing epidemic which has afflicted Night Vale.





	Night Vale Episode 99.5

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically porn, but unless you happen to have the specific fetish I'm catering to, you probably wouldn't read it as such: nothing (most people would consider) sexually explicit happens, and it should (I hope) be entertaining even if you don't get off on it. I have no idea what rating is appropriate for this situation, so I'm going with Teen.
> 
> No CWs apply except for those that would accompany a regular Night Vale episode (unreality, mild jokey gore, etc).

**CECIL:** The years start coming, and they don’t stop coming. The months keep going around again. The weeks are drifting sideways. Welcome to Night Vale.

_(Intro music plays)_

Good evening, listeners. Our top story tonight: every Night Vale citizen who tries to address a group of people has found themselves sneezing uncontrollably, as though suffering from severe hay fever. As of yet, nobody knows the cause of this epidemic.

Astute observers may notice that I am addressing all of you, but I have not yet started sneezing uncontrollably. This is thanks to fix my adorable scientist fiancé Carlos came up with – say hello, Carlos – _(a slight pause)_ no? Okay. Sorry about that, listeners, he can get kind of shy sometimes.

Anyway, using an arcane piece of outside technology, which he calls a _(he butchers the pronunciation)_ ‘lapp-top’, Carlos has modified my recording booth so that it will actually record me, instead of transmitting my voice out live. Then, when I am done speaking, the _(he butchers it again, even worse this time)_ ‘lapt-opp’ will play the recording recorded by the recording booth.

I objected at first, telling him that it was my sworn duty as a professional radio host to give up-to-the-minute information to Night Vale residents. But Carlos reassured me, saying that, _(he changes cadence slightly to make it clear he’s repeating Carlos’ phrasing)_ since time fundamentally fails to work in Night Vale, nobody is likely to notice; and also, having a sneezing fit live on air wouldn’t be very professional either.

More on this story as it develops.

 

* * *

 

And now, a word from our sponsors.

Something is happening.

It’s still happening.

Something has happened, is happening, and will continue to happen. It’s happening. It won’t cease to have been happening. Causes are causing effects which are, themselves, causing further effects.

Something is happening. The stars have become organs, pulsing with blood. _Something_ is happening. An egg is replaced with the crude silhouette of a man, lumpy and misshapen. Something is _happening_. There are things which look like birds, but they are _not_ birds. They are not birds _at all_. _Something_ _is happening_.

Twitter. It’s what’s happening.

 

* * *

 

This just in: the City Council – minus their newest member, who had a prior engagement – has issued a statement on the mysterious sneezing epidemic. Speaking – and sneezing – in unison, they revealed that, _(he quotes their sneezes deadpan)_ achoo, the sneezing was the result of an evil plot, achoo, orchestrated by our enemies.

When asked whether they meant _(he rattles off this whole list without taking a breath)_ Desert Bluffs’ football team, the population of the miniature city hidden under lane five of the Desert Flowers bowling alley, the Librarians, the Carnival, the Street Cleaners, the Dragons, the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home, the Smiling God, the Librarians, the Strangers, Tully the Barber, our opponents in the Blood Space War, the generalised tendency of systems towards increasing disorder, or the evil that lurks in the hearts of all men, women, children and other heart-having sentient beings . . . they replied that, achoo, they meant _our enemies_ , okay, and there was no reason to, achoo, get all _specific_ about it.

When asked whether they were _sure_ the sneezing was being caused by our enemies, and whether it could have something to do with the strange men in grey suits who were seen pumping unknown substances into the air while handing them briefcases of unmarked bills, the City Council began to vibrate and emit unearthly scraping noises, before vanishing in a puff of yellow smoke.

So, there you have it, listeners. The sneezing is being caused by _our enemies_. Be watchful, be vigilant, and above all, be fearful.

 

* * *

 

In lighter news, the eight-foot-tall humanoid insect who stalks the halls of the station, whom I have never mentioned before and will never mention again, has decided what kind of voice she would like everyone to imagine she has. She has stated that her preferred cadence is that of a high-strung, androgynous New Yorker, who places an unusual emphasis on the second syllable of every word with more than two syllables.

This surprised me, as the eight-foot-tall humanoid insect has no mouth or vocal chords, and communicates through a combination of sign language, and etching prime numbers onto the nearest available surface. Also, her contact with the outside world is limited, since she never leaves the station, and since – for reasons of continuity – I have never mentioned her before and will never mention her again. But when I gently reminded her of this, she simply replied that _(he tries his best)_ “My voice – well, the voice I’d have if I had a voice – is im _por_ tant to me, Cecil. It’s an in _teg_ ral part of my i _den_ tity.”

Listeners, I will be honest here. I don’t quite understand my friend’s motivation in wanting to share this information with you. But understanding is not a precondition of respect, and I respect her preferences. I hope you will too.

Also, I suspect I may be able to relate, even if only a little: while it definitely wouldn’t _bother_ me, I imagine I’d be _surprised_ if I heard of someone, say, reading a transcript of something I said without imagining my soft, dulcet tones.

 

* * *

 

The latest news on the sneezing epidemic:

Sheriff Sam, of the Sheriff’s Secret Police, has issued a public statement commanding that citizens not panic about the sneezing. While making this statement, they became increasingly agitated and distracted, visibly suppressing their body’s reflexes, before finally succumbing and issuing a series of explosively loud sneezes with an expression of mingled embarrassment and relief. Naturally, everyone in town immediately began to panic, on the basis that the Sheriff lies so much that if they say _not_ to panic, panicking is probably a good idea.

The Night Vale Tourism Board has issued a public statement claiming our overreaction to the sneezing epidemic will drive away tourists, who come to Night Vale to experience vague generalised dread, and _not_ acute specific panic. The Board’s representative then politely covered his face and began sneezing as quietly and inoffensively as he could, declining to make any further comments.

Monica Deedleck, President of the Night Vale German Literature Appreciation Club, has issued a public statement saying that, while her _primary_ problem is the continued non-existence of her organisation and herself, the sneezing epidemic and the resulting panic definitely aren’t _helping_ Night Vale citizens appreciate German Literature. She then collapsed in the distinct absence of a sneezing fit, and continued to never have been.

Official Night Vale Caller Of Emergency Press Conferences – and former Mayor – Pamela Winchell has called an emergency press conference, and issued a public statement saying that we need to stop issuing public statements because the speakers keep sneezing and making everything worse. She then started to sneeze, making everything worse.

Listeners, for whatever it’s worth, I would like to say that I am shocked and appalled by the underhanded designs of _our enemies_. Random and meaningless persecution is one thing, but using our own paranoia and vigilance against us in this way is completely beyond the pale. For shame, you unknowable and nameless nemeses. For _shame_.

 

* * *

 

And now for a look at the Night Vale Community Calendar:

On Monday, the Glow Cloud – all hail – will be hosting an informal meeting outside Big Rico’s. During this meeting, it plans to luminesce with a myriad incomprehensible colours, and will impart on all who attend vivid – if sometimes annoyingly nonspecific – insights on how to best solve their problems.

On Tuesday, the occurrence of which we are forbidden to speak will take place. Further information is not available here.

Wednesday is the bi-weekly gathering of the Post-Reformation Mountain Denialist Society. I will personally be leading us in chanting “While there definitely exists at least one mountain, and there may well exist more, the system of values we associate with belief in multiple mountains is profoundly misguided!” over and over again until we all collapse from exhaustion. Refreshments will be provided on the day, but it’s still recommended to have eaten beforehand.

On Thursday, we will all be meeting in the town hall to discuss why Night Vale always has _one and exactly one_ social event per day, and whether this is evidence that we are mere half-sketched simulacra of people, being simulated by alien intellects for unknown ends.

Friday has been moved to Saturday.

Saturday has been moved to Friday.

On Sunday, you will see a man in late middle age, eating a pear. And he will see you seeing him, and he will not mind this in the slightest. You will look at him, as if to say “It sure looks like you’re enjoying that pear!”, and he will look back, as if to reply “Not coincidentally, it sure feels like I’m enjoying this pear!”. Neither of you will speak, and after a few seconds one or both of you will look away; and that will be that. You will go about your day as you otherwise would have, wholly unaffected by this interaction, if you could even call it that. But every now and then, in quiet moments, you will find your thoughts drifting to the memory of a man in late middle age, eating a pear.

This has been the Night Vale Community Calendar.

 

* * *

 

Breaking news, listeners. Former Mayor Pamela Winchell has called another emergency press conference; not for herself, but for our current Mayor, Dana Cardinal. In this conference, the Mayor will address the fears of her citizenry, who have all been collected by Hooded Figures and forcibly transported to the Night Vale Stadium so she can calm them down.

Dana can be seen in the corner of the field, conversing urgently with Pamela and a Hooded Figure. The tension is palpable: everyone is waiting for her response to this crisis, to this unprovoked and sinister attack by _our enemies_.

Dana has finished her conversation, and is now striding across the field, towards a podium hastily assembled in the centre of the stadium. She is accompanied by Pamela, several Hooded Figures, and the entire City Council, a few of whom are still intermittently sneezing into several identical monogrammed handkerchiefs.

Despite the grim situation, there is a look of quiet confidence on the Mayor’s face. She looks like she has a plan.

And so, with Dana seconds from beginning her speech, and with the fate of Night Vale’s tourism industry hanging in the balance, I take you now

_(background music the listener didn’t consciously realise had been building cuts out)_

to the weather.

 

* * *

 

_(a song begins to play, and continues to do so for some time)_

 

* * *

 

Welcome back, listeners. As we missed Dana’s speech, it falls on me to recount the events which occurred during those fateful few minutes.

Dana stood in the middle of the field, a microphone in her hand, and began to speak. Her voice was clear, cool, and professional. For a moment, we all believed the curse had lifted.

But then, her face clouded. Her breathing distorted. And she began sneezing, the amplified sound echoing through the entire stadium.

And yet, between the sneezes, _she_ _continued to speak_.

She told us that we were overreacting, both to the event and to our own overreaction. She reminded us that, compared to the horrors Night Vale has survived over the last few years, a sneezing epidemic didn’t seem like much of a threat. And she reassured us that, no matter how nefarious the designs of _our enemies_ , the fruits of their malice were nothing compared to the damage we were capable of doing to ourselves.

At this point, she paused to glare at the City Council, who responded by gibbering plaintively and attempting to hide behind one another.

She then departed the podium, still sneezing, and leaning heavily on Pamela as she made her way to the exit. Sufficiently reassured, the citizenry of Night Value turned as one and began filing out of the stadium, their earlier panic forgotten. Order was restored.

 

* * *

 

So in the end, listeners, I think we all . . . oh, excuse me. Carlos is making frantic hand signals and pained facial expressions in an attempt to communicate that his device is about to begin playback, and so I should stop describing him and start wrapping the show up unless I want to start sneezing uncontrollably while still being recorded. _(aside, quietly marvelling)_ He has a _very_ expressive face.

Ahem. Uh, _(he rushes this next part)_ stay tuned next for the sound of a pen scratching beautiful and horrifying messages in a language which will first be spoken three hundred years from now. And as always: _(he slows down again to get the sign-off perfect)_ good night, Night Vale, goo- ACHOO! ACHOO! Good ni- ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! Excuse me, goo- ACHOO! ACHOO! G-

 **CARLOS:** Good night.

_(a click as the microphone is turned off)_


End file.
